~I'll find my way, through night and day~
The sunlight filters through my window. I clutch the bed sheet, which is as soft as I imagine clouds would be. I have never slept in a bed like this. But then again, everything here is so unfamiliar. The colors are so bright here it almost hurts to look at. The buildings and streets look like something out of the candy shop in my district, even though no one could afford to eat anything there. I remember the way Trisa used to pull at my sleeve back when she was younger and beg for candy. I'm only two years older than her, but then I was convinced I was her big sister who had to take care of her all the time. I still am, I guess. I always will. I'm not ready to open my eyes yet. I don't want to leave the calm of sleep and be forced with brightness. But I force my eyes open anyway.
The floor beneath me creaks as I set my feet down. The nightgown which I found lying on my bed last night swishes gently, like no other kind of cloth I've worn before. Instantly, I'm reminded of Trisa in her scratchy nightgown that she outgrew years ago. I feel a sharp pain in my chest and I have to sit down again. It comes suddenly. I heave a sob. It comes from the bottom of my chest, but there is no sound. No tears. I stay there for a while, sitting on the edge of my bed. Eventually, I bring myself to a standing position again and go into the bathroom.
As I saw last night, it's a wonder in its own. There is an intricate colored pattern on the ground. I have yet to step into the intimidating machine that I know is supposed to be the shower. Instead, I throw on the clothes that have been mysteriously laid out for me, just like the nightgown was. They are comfortable and make me feel ready for what is to come. Well, not really. I'll never really be ready. At least the boots vaguely tell of him. Of mud puddles and the stench of something unrecognizable. Of a market full of shouting vendors. Of a small, slight girl with a flash of red hair dodging between as she takes matters into her own hands. How long has it been since that day?
I pull my hair into a tight ponytail, then tuck it into a bun. Not a hair is out of place. Just the way I like it. I remember when I was younger, the girls at school used to tease me for always having the same hairstyle every day and for the fact I wore it so tightly. But I like having some sense of order in my life, to balance out the chaos. Even if it is just hair. I gently close the door to the bathroom behind me and wander about my room uncertainly. Is someone going to alert me as to when training begins? I eye a panel of buttons along a wall, along with a shoot next to it. Some childlike urge in me tells me to push one. I have always been what I can only describe as a risk-taker. So I push one.
Instantly, I hear a whir. I feel regretful about my decision. I am also extremely impulsive. A plate suddenly appears and I pick it up. On it is a piece of bread that's an eye-watering shade of yellow, with some kind of bright pink fruit spread on top. I almost drop the plate out of disgust. These past few days have been full of extremely unfamiliar things, but this is too far. Here, food literally appears at the push of a button. No one ever has to work for it. It's just there, as if limitless. And yet, so many people in my home are starving! I set the plate down, my stomach turning. With that, I practically race out of the room.
Breakfast is a silent affair. Once again, food just appears, but this time it is in the hands of the people who waited on us last night as well. I stare at the array of foods. Be careful Finch. Those foods on the train were very rich and they made you feel quite slow afterwards. I take a breath. Right, I had a strange feeling in my stomach after eating the food here, almost as if I never wanted to get up again. I hated that feeling. At least when you're hungry, you are alert.
So I carefully place a roll, an apple, and a bit of oatmeal on my plate. I can tell I have Andrea and Aurelia's eyes on me, as well as those of my stylist whose name I can't remember. Atom is too busy slurping some kind of hot liquid with a look of surprise and delight on his face. His plate, I notice, is piled high.
When at last the plates have been cleared, Andrea suddenly looks right at me. Her eyes seem in focus. She brings her hand up, and suddenly pounds the table. I flinch slightly and Atom drops the green fruit he was holding. "Well," she says in a gruff voice, "it's time we stopped putting it off and got down to the Training Center."
As I stand inside the elevator, rubbing my sweaty palms along the side of my pants, I realize I hate the things. They are so small. What if they get stuck? What if the cranks working them just stop? There is no way to escape. We would be trapped. I hate that feeling more than any other. Suddenly, I feel my fingertips shaking. I can't do this. I can't go down there and face the others. I feel Aurelia's gaze shift down to my fingers, so I grab them and attempt to look collected.
My first impression of the place is that it's enormous. Really, it's a wonder they were able to fit this thing here. The walls and floors are made of some kind of harsh metallic material and the room is filled with "stations." As the other tributes make their way around me, I focus on the stations. Of course, there is every weapon imaginable. I see an archery range, and a rack of throwing knives. Next to it stand a rack of swords, with a circle of lifelike dummies. Long, curved blades and spears cover the other wall. Staring at this section sends my stomach into knots. And somewhere deep within me, I know that I can never pick one of those things up.
Finally, a young woman comes to the front and begins speaking. I try to absorb as much of what she says as possible. It seems to me she's stressing survival skills, rather than weapons. Interesting. That's a far different approach than I would have expected. Could this mean she feels some sort of empathy for those of us who know we are incompetent with even the smallest of knives? Or is this some kind of ego-booster for us? More than half than tributes spontaneously committing suicide because we know we can't win can't be entertaining for anyone.
She barely has time to finish her last word, when at least 5 or 6 tributes race over to the weapons section. The rest follow, but off to the different survival stations. I whip my head around wildly, trying to make sense of it all. I want to go somewhere where few are congregated. I make my way over to a huge computer screen and press what I assume is the Start button. It just seems like instinct that I went right over here because computer screens are the only vaguely familiar thing here to me.
I soon realize that it's a sort of game. I have to eliminate all the poisonous plants. I almost sense a smile on my face as I recall the names from that enormous plant book. And some of what I eliminate is just educated guesses. I don't get them all right, but I'm close. And I've got time for improving. In fact, as I finally pass the first level completely, I almost feel a smile form on my face. Almost.
I don't even here the bell ring, indicating that lunch is being served, but I see everyone else heading towards the door, so I click the Stop button and follow. I'll have more time later. Once inside what I assume is the cafeteria, I grab a tray and put a bowl of some kind of stew on it. At home, the stew was a pale gray, with gray vegetables inside it, soft and mushy. If we were lucky, there would be a few pieces of gray, tough beef in it. Here, the herbs in the soup are such a vibrant green I almost have to blink. There are many pieces of beef and the stew itself is a warm red-brown color. I place a roll and an apple on the tray. I've gotten a love for these crisp fruits, which used to be such a rarity. Protein. Carbs. Fruit. That sounds about right. Just being organized in that sense helps me feel a little calmer.
But as I make my way away from the food, I realize I don't know where to sit. Obviously, the Careers have chosen to sit together, but they actually don't look too happy doing that. Except for our lovely little District 2 couple. Who has still gone unnoticed. Everyone seems to have chosen to sit apart, except for the District 12 and, for some reason, District 3 tributes. Well, there aren't an infinite amount of tables so that everyone can just get their own. I have to sit next to someone else.
Don't be stupid. This is hardly a big deal. Just sit at the other end of the table and they won't even notice you. So District 11 it is. I sit at the end of the table, and he doesn't even look up. Well, that couldn't be more typical. So I turn my attention to the other tributes. A remarkably forced laugh comes out of the girl from 12's mouth. It's so fake I have to hold back a laugh. The Careers have turned around with looks of everything from amusement to annoyance on their faces. Come on. They may be bloodthirsty, but they aren't stupid. The blond one rolls her eyes and goes back to picking at her salad and giggling at something one of the boys is saying. But the small one, Clove, just keeps staring at them. Her eyes are just so cold. And she can't be much older than Trisa. It's sick, what these kids have been made into. No way is that girl stable. I make a mental note of that. The unstable ones are the most dangerous. However, they don't think twice. That's what gets them in the end. And then, it hits me.
No wonder she's so angry with that "fake" girl. Not only is her laugh fake, but so is their relationship. They're not in love, and I don't know who they're fooling, but it's not her. So she's unstable, but able to pick up on cues like that. But her relationship isn't fake. There's just one problem. No one can know about it. Because once someone is playing at a certain angle, it's useless copying them, no matter how good at it you are. No, she can't love him anymore. At it's all that 12's fault.
"That little girl freaks me out."
The gruff voice makes me jump in my seat. The huge boy sitting at the table, the one with those big brown eyes, is talking to me. It takes me more than I'm sure he expected to register that. He clears his throat.
"That girl with that black-ish hair and freckles, is she unstable or something?" He pauses. "And the rest of too. The whole time we were supposed to be training, they were just arguing in a corner and laughing at the rest of us. I mean, what's wrong with them?"
His voice suddenly drops to a whisper on the last line.
"Well, I expect it's just how they were raised. I mean, Districts 1 and 2 can't really be the most pleasant place to grow up, right?" I manage to get out. I've noticed he's moved closer from his spot on the table so he can talk to me. His eyebrows crease.
"But they're just Capital lapdogs with death wishes. They get all the food they want, while the rest of us are starving." His voice is raised. It's not loud enough for others to hear, but I'm still worried.
"At least we don't have to train to kill other children from the time we can walk. At least we don't have to get our minds twisted like that."
There is a long pause. I'm afraid to look back at that huge boy and the expression of anger he always seems to wear. I slowly turn around. But to my surprise, he just has his eyebrows raised in a question.
"You aren't like the rest of us here, are you?"
The question takes me by surprise. What does he mean by that? He leans in closer and whispers to me.
"I mean, we're all just…off at this point. Mentally, I mean. Most of us are just so scared we can't think straight, and the rest are already unstable. But you, I saw you in training. You just seem so calculating and…sane."
I play with my spoon. So everyone is twisted except for me? So does that mean he is as well? He doesn't seem scared out of his mind, but then again, at least in my opinion, many of the tributes here have exhibited that trait. Like we're all trying to be stronger than we are.
"What's your name?"
The question comes out of nowhere, just like the last one. But his voice sounds so soft. It's completely out of place, what with him being so tough looking. His eyes are so warm. And in that instant, I know I can trust him. He's so calm when he wants to be, but inside he's fiery and just…strong. Like it or not, I need him. At least for now.
"My name is Finch." He lips curl into a smile at the ends. Oh, it's like a storm broke! His smile is really something to see. He nods.
"We have finches in the orchards. They're nice, especially the little yellow ones. My little sister loves them." He nods to the tiny girl sitting at the table behind us, who is staring at her empty tray with strange intensity. "Rue loves them too." He whispers.
I lower my eyes and begin playing with my spoon again. Then, I softly clear my throat.
"What's your name?" I question hesitantly. I shouldn't be getting too close to anyone. But it's only right.
"My name is Thresh."
